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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013340">belonging</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/milahtalas/pseuds/milahtalas'>milahtalas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ride or Die (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, F/M, Introspection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:14:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/milahtalas/pseuds/milahtalas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone said that Ellie Wheeler was the naive one between the two of them, but the reality was that everyone had it the other way around.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Logan/Main Character (Ride or Die)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>belonging</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>prompt: cafuné (portuguese, n.) — the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair</p><p>originally posted <a href="https://libraascendant.tumblr.com/post/623908203196973056/cafun%C3%A9-rod-logan-x-mc">here</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>When Logan was twelve, he came down with a case of the flu.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t remember much from that time, other than feeling awful and having to down spoonfuls of bitter medicine. He remembers unending days spent in bed, spent in states of delirium, with a few minutes of clarity in between. And for those moments of clarity, he was grateful.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Logan had never been particularly lucky when it came to foster parents, the previous ones had neglected him and the ones before that even worse. Though it appeared that this time, the universe had decided to give him a moment to breathe. And while they weren’t perfect, they <em>cared</em>, which made all the difference to a kid like him. For once in his life he didn’t feel smothered, and he didn’t feel like <em>he</em> was smothering <em>them</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Felicity, a woman in her mid-thirties, placed a wet rag on Logan’s forehead, the skin burning up. “Oh, what am I to do with you?” she tutted, and gave the young boy a small smile. In her eyes, albeit tired, kindness shone true. “You’re a tough kid, Logan. Pull through and beat that flu’s ass, won’t you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Logan doesn’t remember what she said next, or even if he said anything in reply. On some days he thinks that maybe it didn’t even happen at all, that maybe it was all just a fever dream, or an aspiration that was much too mixed in memory. But he <em>swears</em> it was real, that for at least a moment he was cared for, truly cared for. And he will continue to hold hope in his heart that he will find something like that again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Because he remembers how Felicity, how always-busy-and-tired-with-work Felicity, had looked at his sickly, twelve-year-old self and taken the time to care for him. Had taken the time to brush his too-long hair out of his face, to comb her fingers through his hair and lull him into a peaceful sleep. And for a second, even if it were for just a second, she made him feel loved.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Most people would assume that it was Logan who swept the local goody two-shoes Miss Valedictorian Ellie Wheeler off her feet. And in some ways, he has, quite literally, swept her off her feet. But that was only one fragment to an even larger story, a story where <em>Ellie</em> was the hurricane and Logan was but someone who got caught in the wind. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Logan didn’t expect to fall for her. He knows the plan: befriend her, earn her trust, see if she knows anything about the Brotherhood, anything to survive. He knew they were using her. Exploiting a girl’s desires for a life outside of the walls of a home which smothered her all too much. And for a taste of a life with a little more spark, she took the bait, and now balanced on the thin line that separated her two lives.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And now he feels all too guilty, being with her tonight. Logan watches as Ellie takes the medicine kit in her hands, tending to the gashes on his chest. When he hisses in pain while she cleans his wounds, she places a kiss on his skin and asks if it helps. “More than you know,” he says, because it is. It’s more than she will ever know. The mere fact that she willingly offered to fix him up matters so much more to him that she will ever know, more than Logan could ever put into words. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Logan allows himself to think for a second that maybe after eighteen years of a bitter existence, he’s finally found someone who cares for him, truly cares for him, again. But this time without legal obligation, without mountains of paperwork binding them together. Just two people who found each other and <em>cared.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But then he remembers why she’s here, why she’s <em>really</em> here, and the guilt squashes it down. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Logan winces when he feels the cut on his face burn. Ellie pulls her hand back, but he takes it in his. His voice is soft when it comes out, longing and disbelief etched in his words as he confesses what feels to him like sin, “Ellie...nobody’s ever really taken care of me like this.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The look Ellie gives him is a tender one, no pity to be found in it; it’s nothing but compassionate and ridiculously <em>naive</em>. Logan almost wants to cry. From remorse or yearning or just the feeling of being cared for, he doesn’t know. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Logan rests his head on her lap and shuts his eyes, and for a moment he lets himself pretend that they’re just normal teenagers together, without the weight of a withheld secret on his shoulders. Without the guilt he lives in. Without the knowledge that one day, Ellie will find out the truth behind her being with the Mercy Park Crew, and Logan will be hit with the harsh prospect that perhaps her affections were conditional, too.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Ellie kisses him. Logan’s breath catches in his throat but softens almost immediately, and he lets himself be caught in her kiss. But his conscience won’t let him go, and he apologises after. He apologises that he put her in that situation earlier in the night, but he knows that he owes her much more. She tells him he wants her whole, but he says it might be too late for that. He doesn’t want to believe he’s not whole, but he doesn’t want to let himself down chasing pipe dreams either.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But when she starts running her fingers through his long, untamed hair, he allows himself to hope that he’s found a place of genuine belonging again.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://libraascendant.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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